April's Thaw
by Never Stop Believing in Love
Summary: A little follow up to November Rain. B/G


**Disclaimer: I do not own the copyright for Waking the dead or its characters – all rights belong to the BBC**

**Content: Boyd and Grace **

**Rating k **

**Hey everyone. I guess this is kinda a 'follow up' to November Rain therefore it might be helpful if you were to read that before this. Thanks as always for reading – it means a lot. **

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_**Harsh tones of winter that once entombed  
**__**Caused soul from soul's withdrawal  
**__**Gingerly melts along with doom  
**__**Embracing April's Thaw  
**__- Never Stop Believing In Love 2012 -_

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**April's Thaw  
**  
Boyd closed his eyes inhaling deeply allowing the sea air to fill and cleanse his lungs. Slowly he opened them once again and looked out over the vast expanse of blue before him. The early spring sun flickered and danced lightly across the surface, lustrously shimmering like a thousand newly polished diamonds. Noisily the gulls squawked and called as they rose and fell above the water unconsciously mirroring the swell of the waves beneath them. Boyd drew another long and deep breath immediately beginning to feel equilibrium return. This was his place, the place where he came when he needed to escape the suffocating restraints of the city - of his life - of her. For as long as he could remember the sea held a calming power over him, stilling the raging storm long enough to enable him to pick and weave his way through the chaos and frustration that often reigned in his mind. When his therapist suggested that he found somewhere he could retreat to, a place away from his home or office that he could go to refocus there was never anywhere else considered.

As promised he had once again entered into anger management, this time not as a requirement of the Met but of Grace. She had also upheld the promise she had made and had not completely abandoned him, though their relationship was still only an echo of the past. His mind inadvertently and unsurprisingly drifted once more to Grace. He had long ago become accustomed to her image encroaching on his thoughts unannounced and holding him captive. It had taken them a long time to find neutral ground in their changing relationship, each tentatively testing where the boundaries lay as lovers tried to slip back once again into the confines of friendship. It was almost bearable when they were working. Neither he nor Grace had ever been demonstrative or openly affectionate with one another whilst in the office, always fastidious in keeping their working relationship strictly professional and above reproach. Even now, when they were in the office, it was just as it had always been. Almost.

Sometimes it was her scent, just the smell of her lingering in the bullpen, in his office - or hers. Intoxicatingly nestling in the air pervading his senses and filling his being with the longing to bury his face in her neck and breathe her in. Sometimes it was simply a look. Whether she intended it or not he didn't know, but when she dropped her eyes and gazed at him in the alluring way that only she could it was all he could do to stop himself from grabbing her there and then and kissing her into submission. Often times he found himself staring absentmindedly at her, watching through the glass as she moved fluidly through the bullpen, her clothes floating and falling gracefully accentuating the curves and plains of her body. He desired to reach for her as she passed, to feel the touch of her skin once again against his. But he held back. Partly due to his innate stubbornness but mostly simply because she had asked for time and he would give it to her, no matter how much it was ripping him apart inside

He fought against himself almost daily as he attempted to keep his distance from her ensuring that their interactions were purely work related but his attempts to redefine their relationship were much more successful in the office than outside. It was in the evenings that his weakness coldly and brutally manifested itself. Those evenings when she would telephone him and his world revolved around her gentle voice. Heaven and hell. Joy and pain. Her voice instantly warming his soul yet ultimately filling him with loss and reminding him of what he had thrown away.

It was always a phone call, she never once called in person, or suggested that they met outside work, and it was always she that initiated the call. Of course there were many nights, usually fuelled by whiskey and loneliness, when he had dialled her number only to hang up before the connection was made. He no longer felt that he had the right to talk to her whenever he wanted. He understood that he had lost that entitlement on a rainy November night when he stood in their living room enveloped in a midst of blind fury and called her every repugnant vicious name he could think of. Hatred had risen up within him, hatred at the world who stole his son, hatred of himself, all of it baying like ravenous beasts battling for release which he freely unshackled and allowed to stampede unbridled.

The memory of that evening still haunted him. The wounded distraught look that was carved deeply into her face, the pain blazing uncontrollably in her eyes all engraved for eternity in his mind. A broken fragile doll crushed under his devastating weight, but unstoppable he had continued to rage and destroy the delicate beauty within, until it was too late. He heard her gasp in shock. Somehow her staggered inhalation of air broke through the reddened mist and was enough to pull him back. Abruptly trailed from the depths of destruction he was fully there, standing in front of her, watching horrified as her shattered form recoiled from him. He tried to speak, to apologise, but his words were impotent, lost in the valley of desolation gorged violently by their predecessors.

_You can't lose Grace_ his mind screamed accusingly at him. But as she turned away from him he knew that he already had.

He had spent the first few weeks sleeping in his office, or hers. Some nights his need to feel close to her, to be in her space surrounded by her things, was overwhelming. He paced her office, leafed through her books, listened to her CDs, always meticulously ensuring that he replaced each item just as he had found them so his intrusion would go undetected. Sometimes he would just sit for hours on her visitors couch staring blankly ahead at her desk imagining her stooped over, eyes full of concentration as she worked tirelessly. He remembered her office filled with laughter when during the tentative early stages of their developing relationship they had spent long evenings talking about the current case over a bottle of wine and a takeaway meal until gradually they found that work was no longer mentioned at all as they simply relished being in the other's company. In his heart he had hoped that by some miracle they would sort things out between them, but as the weeks drifted by he painfully conceded that what they had shared was over.

The modest townhouse he currently rented was functional, but not home. Even though it had been five months since he had grudgingly moved in numerous cardboard boxes still occupied the neutrally painted rooms, all neatly lined against the walls. He hadn't yet found it within himself to fully unpack inanely believing that emptying the contents that had once happily resided in the home he shared with Grace was the final act of defeat and he wasn't strong enough to admit that yet. She had never visited him there, even though he had given her the address. The only essence of Grace that resounded in this house was on those nights when she called him. As evening fell he often found himself despondently glaring at his phone, willing it to ring, longing just to hear her voice on the other end of the line. Some nights he would curse himself for being so weak and hastily arrange to meet Spence at the bar only to spend the entire evening constantly checking his mobile in case he had missed her call.

It had been awkward at first, almost forced. In the office they were able to hide behind the intricacies of the case, words came easily as they discussed their latest findings or theories. Always purposed, focused, meaningful and seamlessly bouncing off once another. Yet in those darkened evenings, telephone pressed to his ear, his mouth ran dry as his thoughts tumbled chaotically into one another, his mind grappling helplessly searching carefully for the right words to say. He knew she felt it too as their comfortable manner with one another lay disseminated around them in shattered pieces dissolving in discomfited silences. Still she stubbornly continued to ring him, both skirting and evading anything of importance or truth. She never asked him about anger management, trusting him fully when he told her he had gone back into therapy, and he never pushed her on the status of their relationship. Questions enquiring how their day had gone were met with the banal "good thanks, yours?" to which the reply would inevitably be "yea fine thanks." The surface deep conversation frustrated them both but neither wanted to be the first to give in or vocalise the internal torment they were struggling with. Words choked in his throat as he desperately fought against his burning desire to tenderly whisper "I miss you Grace." And he did, every day he missed her. Her presence may have been physically with him whilst in the Unit, but he missed the essence of her, the part she had once freely given to him but was now supressed and contained in a stronghold of hurt.

Grace bit back the desire to ask, she knew how much it was taking out of him. He hated therapy, but he was doing it for her. She longed to tell him how much it meant to her, how proud she was of him that he was seeking help, no matter what his motivation for it was. In many ways the fact that he was doing it for her only compounded her love for him and enforced his love for her. But even now she wasn't sure that love was enough. Too much water had passed under the bridge for her to rush wantonly back into his arms, but then again she was also intensely aware that too much water had passed under the bridge for her to fully walk away from him. They had been through so much together over the years. He had stood with her, fought with her and for her when she didn't have the strength to fight herself. She could hear the loosely concealed pain in his hesitant voice, knew instantly that he was holding back as much as her but she refused to push him. His words and hers. Polar opposites forcefully pushing back from the brink of being voiced.

Everything within her was screaming how much she missed him. Missed the feel of him, his closeness, his touch but the warmth and tenderness in his voice had now been hidden by a veil of awkward tentativeness. Even in the midst of heated frustration, when they disagreed and argued professionally she knew that he held back, fearful that he would damage further the faltering remnants of their relationship. She missed the fight, missed the passion that ignited between them, but there was still a spark remaining in the embers that kept her holding on. Something in his eyes stopped her from pouring water over the dying fire, and ensured that time after time she dialled his number. Sometimes for his benefit, sometimes hers.

As the months edged forward driven by the rampages of time the seasons changed and their bitter frostiness embraced the thaw that spring carried with it. Little by little the cold icy edges of their conversations had gradually been chipped away. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they began to relax into one another once again neither of them noticing when the change had taken place but both silently relishing it. Their exchanges were no longer strained or filled with uneasy silence, instead a gentle familiar flirtatious banter had resumed between them. In work, they were as they had always been - professional, driven, focused and affable, both still carefully concealing their lingering gazes from each other, and the rest of the world. However in the evenings their telephone conversations were filled with comfortable teasing and long forgotten laughter. A weekly forced catch up soon increased to a few nights per week until finally it became a nightly occurrence. Sometimes he had only just made it in through his front door when his mobile sounded but it was never met with annoyance, her name always drawing a smile from his lips as he answered.

"_Hi Grace …."_

They talked for hours and spoke about everything. The day, the case, the weather, politics, weekend plans, television, but still they firmly ignored the ache that pressed on each of their hearts as they supressed the desire to bear the intensity of their souls. Inevitably as the call ended they both felt an unexplainable emptiness, an emptiness that in their depths they knew could only be filled by the other.

The sea air was bracing as Boyd continued to walk along the shores his mind still firmly distracted by Grace. He had never expected her to wait for him. Hoped yes - expected no. He knew that he could never ask her to, but that didn't stop the bile from rising in his stomach when he saw her with him. Just as he had taken a chance and allowed his heart to believe that there was maybe a way back for them it was cruelly ripped from him. The day was just like any other day. There was no forewarning in her behaviour, nothing that alerted or prepared him for the deep sense of jealousy a stranger would awaken in him.

He had been engrossed in the paperwork strewn across his desk until he heard their voices, one deep and unfamiliar the other joyfully welcoming her guest. His head whipped round quick enough to see their friendly affectionate embrace through the partitional glass of their respective offices. Boyd's heart lurched painfully as unable to divert his gaze he watched intently their easy interaction. He felt his pulse begin to race as the man rested his hand lightly on Grace's back, jealousy and pocessiveness surging through him as Grace rewarded the stranger with a tender smile. Boyd closed his eyes softly as he took a steading breath, internally battling against the rising desire to burst into her office and throw the intruder out_. _Maybe now it was time. Maybe now he had to finally accept he had lost her.

A soft tap at his door irritatingly broke into his thoughts causing his eyes to open and his head to lift. He forced a smile as Grace stepped into his office.

"Hi." He opened lightly determinedly avoiding asking about the man now patiently waiting in the room opposite. "You okay?"

"Yea fine. You?"

"Couldn't be better Grace." He lied. "Whatdya want?"

"Just letting you know I'm heading off now, if that's okay with you."

His eyes narrowed fractionally, she never usually asked for permission and briefly he wondered how much she'd hate him if he suddenly found a profile he needed her to complete before the weekend. Instead he shrugged dismissively "Yea fine." He replied shaking his head lightly. She made no attempt to move steadfastly holding his gaze until he smiled gently under her scrutiny. "Go on, get outta here." He said heavy heartedly motioning towards the door with his head.

Grace immediately noted that his smile didn't reach his eyes, but that was the only betrayal of his emotions she was able to read, he had closed himself up to her. Maybe he didn't care that another man was taking her out for dinner. Maybe, she determined, he had already decided that they were better to stay as friends than lovers. She returned his smile softly. "Have a nice weekend Boyd." She said turning to leave his office.

"Grace …." He called after her.

"Yea?" Grace spun round hope rising in her heart. For a few moments he just stared at her in silence. She knew he wanted to say the words, she could see it in his eyes. Her heart was willing him on. _Just_ _say it, just tell me what you're feeling_. But he never did. Frustrated he ran his hand roughly through his hair. "Have a good time yea?" Her heart fell as his tone told her everything. He had admitted defeat.

Her smile hid the sadness that devastatingly embraced her heart as sighing deeply she said. "Goodnight Boyd."

As he watched them leave Boyd hastily switched off his computer, grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and headed towards the sea. He needed to clear his thoughts, empty his head of every unbridled emotion that was flowing through him. He had no-one else to blame. It was his fault. All of it was his fault. He couldn't blame Grace for moving on, she deserved to be happy, to be with someone who made her happy, the fact that he wasn't that someone was something he had to learn to live with.

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The sound of his mobile startled Boyd and awoke him from his sleep. Drowsily he fumbled around the takeaway cartons housing the remains of his dinner that were scattered across the top of the coffee table as he searched for handset.

"Boyd." He answered tersely, still trying to rouse himself.

"What has you so grumpy tonight?"

He grinned in spite of himself at the sound of her voice. "Grace. I wasn't expecting to hear from you." He said rubbing his hand over his face in a bid to displace the weariness.

"Well if I'd known you were going to be so damn grumpy you may not have." She teased gently.

"I'm not grumpy … I must have fallen asleep on the sofa and am just a little … disorientated."

"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Doesn't matter. So did you have a nice time on your date tonight?" He internally winced as the words left his mouth.

"It wasn't a date Boyd, but yes I did thank you, it was very pleasant."

"Ah pleasant was it?" He answered relieved at her easy reply to his intrusion.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It's just pleasant is ….. well it's not exactly exciting is it?" He mocked.

"Well it's a damn sight more exciting than falling asleep on your sofa Boyd."

"Fair point." He conceded. "So are you going to tell me who he is then?"

"He's just a friend Boyd."

"Cosy friend Grace."

"Oh grow up!" Her voice softened as she continued. "Look its 10pm on Friday evening and I'm talking on the phone to you - doesn't that tell you anything?"

"Yea he was a lousy date."

She gave an irritated sigh. "How many more times? It wasn't a date. He's an old friend." There was a few moments silence before she continued. "Do you remember how we used to spend Friday nights at this time of year?"

He smiled against the telephone handset as happy memories of spring evenings flooded his mind with warmth. "Of course I do. As soon as the evenings began to lengthen you'd drag me down to that poncy pub overlooking the river and force me to sit outside in the beer garden no matter how frigging cold it was!"

"They had patio heaters."

"Still the brass monkeys were holding tightly onto their ..."

"Boyd!" She gently admonished amusement tripping lightly through her tone. "Anyway I didn't hear you complain much."

"No, well you were happy weren't you." He answered sincerely.

"I miss those evenings you know." She softly admitted closing her eyes and silently praying he caught her undertone.

"You do?"

"Yea - don't you? Or are you too busy with Spence these days?"

Boyd groaned loudly. "I'm much too old to keep up with Spence!"

"You implying I'm old?"

"No, I just ..." He stopped mid-sentence realising that he was digging himself into a hole. Sighing heavily he settled on telling her the safe honest truth "... I'm just saying I miss those evenings too Grace."

A comfortable silence descended once again between them, each processing the others words as they inaudibly acknowledged another shift in their deepening relationship, until it was abruptly interrupted as Boyd swore loudly, his annoyance blindingly evident in his tone.

"I'm sorry?" Grace asked indignantly.

"Sorry Grace. Hold on would you, there's some idiot banging on the door?"

"Probably one of your blondes." She laughed lightly as she heard his feet thump heavily across the wooden floor boards.

"Hardly!" He guffawed "... however ..." He continued mischievously as he grappled to open the door "…. how else do you expect me to fill my lonely Friday evenings when I'm here and you're ..."

She looked into his dark brown eyes her smile widening as she replied. "Here too ..."

Fin


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